


Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Playing Dress Up

by MizJoely



Series: Twenty Sherlolly Prompts [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pagedancer87 on tumblr said: Sherlock has Molly try on a bunch of "disguises" for a case, when really he just wanted to see her in different costumes. Fetish/Roleplay smut?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Playing Dress Up

**Author's Note:**

> So I played with the premise a bit and indulged one of my own, um, kinks, shall we say? Hope you like what I came up with! Hoory, I've now officially passed the halfway mark, 11 down only 9 to go! (Warnings for Smexytimes including use of handcuffs)

“Sherlock? Are you sure about this? I mean, really sure we have to do this?”

As Molly peeked out from the bedroom door, Sherlock turned to face her, and her breath caught at the sight of him. He was clad from head to foot in unrelieved, skin-tight black, with his hair slicked back and straightened. Not just straightened, but darkened as well, nearly black instead of his usual deep brown. He even held himself differently, and suddenly his assertion that they had been asked to infiltrate a science fiction convention had a lot more appeal than it had when he’d first told her about it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy sci-fi, but she wasn’t very keen on big crowds of people, and the convention Sherlock wanted to drag her to was one of the biggest in the UK. But he’d sulked and finally she’d given in, just like she always did – and then, after she’d agreed to help out (John would be away with Mary and baby Isabelle that weekend), he’d shown her the bedroom full of costumes to try on. She wasn’t much for dress-up either, but if it was necessary for the case then she could hardly say no.

The first outfit he’d had her try on had been based on Star Wars, rather than Star Trek, and had been incredibly uncomfortable. Not just with the amount of skin Molly would have to show – she wasn’t ashamed of her figure but she’d never been comfortable in bikinis – but because the top part of the ‘Slave Leia’ costume managed to both dig into her ribs and squish down her boobs. Yes, it looked fantastic, but there was no way she was skulking around a convention site feeling like she was being permanently pinched. When she’d explained her reason for vetoing, Sherlock had scrunched up his face and somewhat regretfully shoved aside the box containing his counterpart to that costume – Han Solo, complete with blaster, but had made no further protests once Molly showed him the angry red marks on her ribs.

But this outfit, the Star Trek one, it had possibilities. Yes, the skirt was short, but the boots were comfortable and the silky fabric of the blue dress was light as air against her skin, as were the matching knickers. Light and airy, yes, but not flimsy or cheap; clearly Sherlock had gone to a rather large expense to put this selection together for the two of them. Or else the costumer owed him a favor.

Not only did her costume have a great deal of appeal, but his, as she’d already noted, was an absolute delicious dream come true. A dark and scary dream, but a sexy one. She wondered if Sherlock knew what an effect he was having on her libido; not that he didn’t turn her on just by being himself, but in this particular outfit and persona, he was like an irresistible force pulling her in.

She knew better; this was just a case to him, and they were just friends, but she couldn’t help her mind from drifting down some dark and delightfully kinky alleys as she drank in the sight of him. Then he frowned, tugged on his shirt, and finally caught her eye…and from the sudden intensity of his gaze as he met hers, he knew exactly what had been going through her mind.

“Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he took in her own costumed form with what looked very much like approval, “this is an unexpected benefit.”

“Oh?” Molly asked, fully entering the room but not walking up to where he stood next to the bed. Heart beating madly in her chest, she breathed out, “How so?”

“Molly Hooper has a thing for costumes. But does she also have a thing for role play?” Sherlock asked as his eyes darkened, pupils blown back with what she dared identify as passion. Or at least lust, if it was just physical. It would be wrong, so very, very wrong to jump his bones, Molly counseled herself, especially if it turned out to be just a one-off. But the sight of the definite bulge forming in the front of those tight black trousers was very hard to ignore.

As was the sultry growl of his voice when he said, “Come here, Dr. Hooper. You can hardly perform my medical exam from across the room.” Then he grinned, a slow, feral grin that turned her knees to water as he added, “After all, you mustn’t keep the prisoner waiting.” And God help her, he proceeded to produce a pair of handcuffs from behind his back – where they’d been attached to the waistband of his trousers, maybe? – and click them around his wrists with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact the entire time.

Dear. God. He’d seen the movie; he had to have, or at least some of the photos online, possibly to research for the convention? Whatever, no matter, certainly not important. Not when Sherlock was looking at her – finally! – the way she’d longed for him to do ever since that first meeting in the morgue seven years ago.

As if in a dream Molly felt herself moving forward, stopping directly in front of him, reaching up to press her hands against the firm, muscular chest his black shirt showed off to such perfection. Before Sherlock could do more than smirk at her, she shoved him, hard, pushing him off balance so that he fell back on the bed with a ‘whoof!’ of surprise. Then she climbed onto the bed as well, his thighs between her knees, leaning forward so that her hair fell over her shoulder as she rested her hands on either side of his head. “The prisoner needs to learn when not to mouth off to the Chief Medical Officer,” she growled, lowering herself so that she was lightly grinding against that lovely bulge in his crotch.

“Duly noted,” he breathed, lifting his cuffed hands and shifting his hips beneath hers, encouraging her to continue her movements as he cupped her breasts. Although she loved the way it felt to finally have him touching her in so intimate a fashion, there was a wild recklessness growing in her; if this was to be her only sexual encounter with Sherlock Holmes, she wasn’t going to let a single fantasy go to waste. With that in mind, she grabbed his wrists and pushed his arms up, over his head, pressing them into the mattress as she leaned down and kissed him.

She’d imagined kissing Sherlock so many times, daydreams and sleeping dreams and idle fantasies, that she’d come to assume that if the real thing ever happened it couldn’t possibly be as good as his kisses in her imagination. She had no idea what type of a kisser he’d be – a masher, a nibbler, sloppy, neat? – and even less of an idea as to his experience level when it came to sex.

She shouldn’t have worried, was her first, rather delirious thought as their lips met and clung. He was a bit of a biter, nipping at her lower lip, dragging his teeth across the tender flesh as she opened her mouth in invitation. An invitation he took immediate advantage of, his tongue gliding between her lips and meeting hers in an urgent duel.

Kissing Sherlock fantasy; check.

She moved her lips away from his, panting for breath, eyes shut tight as she brought her mouth to the long, pale expanse of exposed throat and its enticing freckles and moles. She set her teeth lightly against his skin and felt a jolt go through her at the sound of him moaning. Sherlock Holmes was moaning, and Molly Hooper was the one to elicit that moan. Had she ever actually described herself as ‘mousy’? If so, she was determined to be the mouse that roared…and the one who made Sherlock roar as well.

“Keep your hands above your head at all times during the medical exam,” she whispered in his ear, curious to see how far he would let this go. Oh, they were going to have sex, there was no question about that, but how long would Mr. Control Freak let her call the shots?

“Very well, Doctor,” Sherlock rumbled in response, shifting his hips a bit but keeping his expression cool and aloof. “Shall we begin?”

Oh, he’d _definitely_ seen the movie, if he was quoting from it! She would have to quiz him on his taste in films later. Much, much later, if she had her way.

Rising to her knees, she pulled her body away from his, staring down at him, taking in the sight of Sherlock Holmes lying with his hands stretched over his head, wrists cuffed, his black shirt riding up just the slightest bit and showing a pale swath of flesh just above the waistband of his trousers. She reached down, running her fingers lightly over his chest until she reached the button holding his trousers closed.

He sucked in his breath but made no other sound as she slowly undid the button, sliding her fingers down to the zip and pulling it down equally slowly. She maintained eye contact as she eased the fabric apart, somehow not in the least surprised to discover he wasn’t wearing any pants beneath the tight trousers.

She tugged his cock free and looked down. Big, but not massive; purple shading to red, the base and his bollocks covered with a light dusting of gingery hair.

Seeing and touching Sherlock’s cock fantasy; check.

Time for a fantasy that was a wee bit naughtier, Molly thought, easing her body down between Sherlock’s legs. The sound he made when her lips touched the head of his cock was best described as a strangled gasp, and Molly’s lips curved in a smile as she continued to bob on him, licking and sucking, holding the base in one hand, testing to see what he liked…and how long he could maintain control.

The answer, she was gratified to learn, was not very. “Molly, stop!” he gasped out. “Close, stop, please!”

There was a definite whimper in his voice on that last word, and she granted his request only because of that. Well, and because of course she wanted to tick off a few more fantasies.

Sucking Sherlock’s cock fantasy; check. Time for the real thing.

“Condoms?” she asked as she slithered out of her knickers and undid the zip on her boots. She hadn’t bothered with the black stockings that had been included in the box with the rest of the costume, not for this dry run, and was quite happy with that decision even though the boots had started rubbing blisters on the backs of her heels.

“Um, there might be some in the loo?”

Molly paused in the midst of tugging off her last boot. “‘Might’ be?” she repeated with an arched eyebrow. Honestly, she’d expected the answer to be ‘no’, but always kept one in the zipper pocket of her handbag, along with a tampon and other feminine necessities. “Leftover from John or – never mind,” she added, realizing she didn’t actually want to know. She’d already done enough to pull them out of their little role play, and now was certainly not the time to quiz Sherlock on his love life. Or was it? He knew hers in detail – well, not THAT much detail, of course, but she’d teased him a bit when she was still engaged, telling him she and Tom were having quite a lot of sex, and although she was pretty certain he hadn’t actually shagged his fake fiancée seven times a night, surely if he had he’d have been careful…

“Molly!”

She startled and turned to face him, embarrassed that she’d gotten so caught up in what really was none of her business. “Sorry, just…I’ll go check, no, I’ve got one in my handbag…I just usually always have one, not that I was expecting anything…”

Sherlock huffed and raised his head to glower at her. “Molly, I’m not accusing you of any sort of hidden agenda, nor am I admitting to having one myself. If there’s a box in the loo, then yes, it’s leftover from John, because I haven’t had sex with anyone since…well, suffice to say, in many years. And if you have a condom in your handbag, it would never occur to me to question you as to why. Either way, I am quite eager for you to put one on me so we can commence shagging one another, as it is long overdue, wouldn’t you say? And,” he added while Molly gaped at him, still holding her boot loosely in one hand, “if there is only the one, then I shall have to run out after and purchase a new box. For next time.”

“Next time,” Molly repeated, feeling as if she’d been run over by a lorry. “You want…you mean there’s going to be a…next time?”

Sherlock’s answering smile was slow, smoldering, and full of promise. “Oh yes,” he purred, drinking in her naked form, raking her with his gaze from head to foot. “Many, many more ‘next times’. Like I said, this has been long overdue, and I intend to make up for lost time.”

Molly finished removing her boots and retrieved her handbag in record time, not bothering to hunt in the loo for the box of condoms that might or might not be there; after, she resolved, she would look. And then send Sherlock out if it wasn’t there, because he was absolutely right; this day had been a long time coming, and there was a great deal of lost time to make up for.

She did note, however, that Sherlock’s arms never moved; he left them over his head, as she’d directed, even when they’d gotten sidetracked. Nor had his lovely erection waned; for someone who was always so bloody impatient, it seemed Sherlock Holmes could muster up the patience of a saint under the right circumstances.

Well, fair was fair; Molly had been more than patient with him over the years. Now that they’d reached a point she’d never thought he was interested in – but clearly was – it was time to stop thinking and start acting.

Time to fulfill the ‘having sex with Sherlock’ fantasy.

As she rolled the condom onto his cock, watching him shift and bite those gorgeous lips of his, squeezing his eyes shut and clearly holding in a groan, Molly felt an intense excitement. None of her previous lovers had ever affected her this way, and she knew it was simply because none of them had ever been Sherlock Holmes. Even if the sex turned out to be so-so (which seemed unlikely), he was still the man she’d wanted like no other in her life.

She clambered over him, not as gracefully as she would have liked, but not so clumsily as to knee him in the groin or anything. And when she sank down on him – lord knew she was wet enough to accept the lovely thick length of him! – she sighed and leaned down, resting her hands just above his shoulders and taking his mouth in a passionate kiss.

He responded instantly, kissing her back, nipping at her lower lip in that way she’d just discovered he had, moaning into her mouth and thrusting his hips up to meet her movements. His arms were shaking, and she decided it was time to let him touch her; she grasped his elbows and brought his arms forward and those big hands of his were covering her breasts as she gasped and shuddered at the additional sensation.

When he pinched her nipples, she keened loudly, her body jolting into orgasm as if he’d willed it into being. “Christ, Molly!” she heard him moan, and then his smooth rhythm fractured into a few stuttered thrusts, and he pushed himself deep inside her as she collapsed onto his chest, feeling his release as he pulsed into her.

Their racing heartbeats thundered as one in her ears; with shaking hands, she reached into each of his pockets, finding the key to the handcuffs in the left one. She steadied herself enough to release him, chafing his wrists until he caught her in his arms, rolling them onto their sides as he nuzzled her throat. He released her only long enough to take care of the condom, tying it off and disposing of it into the bin next to his bed.

After a few minutes spent curled around one another, slowly coming down from their mutual high, Sherlock spoke. “So, Molly, about this costume kink of yours…tell me, do you think you could indulge one of my particular fantasies next time?”

“Depends,” she said with a grin, turning her face to his and dropping a kiss on his nose. “What is it?”

With a gleam in his eyes, he whispered his answer, and Molly’s post-coital glow became a frenzy of kisses and embraces that ended only when Sherlock went to the loo to seek out additional condoms – luckily there was, indeed, a half-empty box in the cupboard.

And when he made it back to his bedroom, the darkening of his eyes as his pupils expanded told Molly that he hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d often pictured her lounging on his bed, naked except for one article of his clothing.

The purple shirt of sex, as she’d privately dubbed it, turned out to be one dress-up kink they both shared.


End file.
